


Laurels of Blood (REWRITE)

by DarthImperiusArchive (DarthImperius)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Young Dracula (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Plot Bunny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-14 19:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthImperius/pseuds/DarthImperiusArchive
Summary: With Garside Grange burned to the ground in a freak accident, Count Dracula is forced to call a few favours from an old acquaintance. And as this happens, the young Harry Potter prepares himself for his fourth year at Hogwarts, hoping it will be far more peaceful compared to the previous two.





	1. Vampires and Wizards

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Laurels of Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905766) by [DarthImperiusArchive (DarthImperius)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthImperius/pseuds/DarthImperiusArchive). 



> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the Young Dracula TV series belongs to BBC.

**Disclaimer** : Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the Young Dracula TV series belongs to BBC.

* * *

_When the shattered image marks its claim,_

_When fate is broken, drowned by starved teeth,_

_When pale death becomes the saviour of life,_

_When the conquered laurels of blood are prized,_

_Then life shall be scorned, and all its joys despised._

\- Second section of a tripartite propechy, spoken in 1028 AD

* * *

**_Chapter 1 – Vampires and Wizards _ **

To Vladimir Dracula, moving was becoming a tradition.

It had been quite a while since they had left Stokely Castle, their stay there itself caused by a mob of Transylvanian peasants which had driven them away from their original home. Yet they were also driven away from Stokely Castle (or more precisely, had to run away) after it had been taken over by a power-mad Ingrid. Yet that had happened four years ago, and they had soon found a new refuge in an old manor called Garside Grange. Three years they had spent there, the Count developing plans to covert it into a school in order to lure in victims. Plans which never came to fruiton, as the entire building had been reduced to ashes and rubble after a freak accident caused a fire in the kitchens.

The Count had not been quite pleased with that, and neither was he interested in wasting time searching for a new home so soon. Therefore, his father had called in a few favours from an old aqquaitance, so that they had a temporary residence – at least until everything was sorted out.

However, Vlad had not been expecting said acquaintance to be a wizard, and the “temporary residence” to be a huge castle, which itself was a school for wizards, located in the Highlands of Scotland, far away from civilization.

“I still can’t believe you managed to do this,” muttered Vlad as he dragged a tall and thin coffin into the small and dark chamber.

“Oh, come on Vladdy. You have too little faith in your father!” said the muffled voice of Count Dracula. “Besides, Albus owed me one.”

“Yeah, well let’s hope this one doesn’t burn down!”

The moonlight entered through a small window, revealing a dark, dusty, and cob-web infested circular room. Vlad had lightened up a torch on the stone wall, giving them a bit more of light. The coffin opened, revealing the awakened form of Count Dracula, now eyeing the premises.

“Well, it’s… small,” he commented.

“Better than nothing,” shrugged Vlad, having now returned to unpacking things.

“True. Now, look at the time!” said the Count, looking at the window. “The perfect hour for hunting! Care to join me Vlad?”

“No father. I’ll stay here, and unpack what’s left of our things,” said the teenager.

The Count huffed, none too pleased about Vlad’s passiveness. “Well, more for me then.”

Instants later, the Count’s form had ceased to be human, having become a small bat which quickly flew out of the open window. Vlad could only imagine where he would go, but decided not to dwell on that and began to sort out the things. As he prepared to put his father’s coffin on a raised dais, a figure came from downstairs, the colourful robes and white hair and beard making a rather strong contrast with the rest of the room.

“Ah, you must be young Vladimir! A pleasure to meet you,” spoke the old man, approaching him and extending his hand in greetings. “I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Vladimir had never met Dumbledore before, and he was unsure of what to expect from a wizard. As far as he could tell, the man’s fashion sense would be ridiculed by the vampires, and the breathers would find it eccentric as well.

“Hello,” he said, shaking the hand. “I’m Vladimir, yes. It’s a pleasure as well, headmaster. Thanks, by the way.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Your father and I have quite a history. And I owe him quite a few favours, so I couldn’t say no to his request in good conscience.”

Vlad nodded, wondering what exactly had happened so long ago that this man, who was apparently the highest ranked of all wizards, now was in debt to his father. For some reason, the Count refused to answer any questions related to that, so he had not pressed.

Much.

Still, he got no answers.

“You have agreed on a few rules, right?” asked Vlad, a bit worried about the fact that they would be living in a castle which also served as a boarding school. “About… that.”

Dumbledore’s eyes shined through his half-moon glasses, twinkling almost as if he had tiny stars in them.

“Indeed. I also expect you to follow them,” said Dumbledore.

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in biting anyone,” he admitted. “I’m not into human blood.”

For Dumbledore, that was a rather interesting statement.

“Not a very vampiric choice, especially for one who is the closest the vampires have to a king.”

 Vlad stiffened. How did the wizard know about that? He knew that wizards and the vampires had some sort of treaty between them, but he wasn’t so sure about… communication. There was still the matter that they were breathers, and relations between vampires and breathers were not quite… good. Unless the vampires viewed wizards differently.

Dumbledore however, seemed to have a new interest.

“Speaking of your father, where is he?”

Vlad pointed to the window. “It’s night and he’s a vampire. He’s flapping around somewhere.”

“Pity. I wanted to speak with him.”

“You can catch him in the morning,” said Vlad.

Whatever Dumbledore said, he did not hear, as the sound of flapping wings distracted him. His father could not be returning so soon, could he? However, instead of a bat flying into the room through the open window, it had been a white owl, carrying on its beak a sealed envelope.

* * *

Life at Privet Drive was boring.

It was the only conclusion Harry could reach, after having lived there for more than a decade, and having spent the last three years in a magical boarding school. Returning to a magicless world, even if only for a few months, was nothing he was ever eager for. Harry looked at the bright sky outside his small bedroom, nothing peculiar happening either inside the house or outside it.

As walked away from window, he stepped on something cold and hard. On the floor near his bed was an open book on Quidditch, the pictures moving, oblivious to the fact that they were being stepped on. Harry could not help but feel that had these been portraits, the reaction would be quite different. He placed the book on the short bedside table and decided on returning to finish his summer homework. Snape and McGonagall were usually always tied on who had the hardest of all summer tasks, and this year it was no different. Yet before he could focus himself, a tap on the widow made him look at the source of the intruding noise. It had been a small brown owl, apparently carrying a letter from someone. Harry rushed to the window, opening it, and allowing the bird in. It landed on the drawer, waiting for Harry to take the letter. As soon as the teen had taken the envelope, the owl jumped from the drawer and flew out of the window, likely returning to where it came from.

He recognized the symbol on the envelope. He had received a similar one last year from the Ministry of Magic, although that one had been because of Dobby. Nothing of the sort had happened for the ministry to be writing to him. Well, he wouldn’t discover what they wanted by wondering about it. Harry opened the envelope, taking out the letter and silently reading it.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_as per the recently enacted Historical Preservation Act, the Wizengamot has decreed that all buildings relevant to the history of the community of British wizards must be kept in an acceptable enough condition, as to preserve the history of our society. It has come to our attention that you are the current rightful owner of the structure commonly known as the Palace of Hibernicus, formerly property of the Fleamont family, currently in disrepair. Due to the historical nature of this structure, it has been placed in the list of properties that need restoration._

_If the property does not undergo restoration, the Historical preservation Act allows the ministry to seize the property lawfully and permanently in order to implement the required measures. To initiate the procedures, please contact the newly created Department of Culture. As you are a minor, these procedures must be done under the supervision and assistance of your legal guardian in the magical community, which currently is Albus Dumbledore._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Logan Corbeld_

_Department of Culture_

_Ministry of Magic_

* * *

Well… now that was surprising. And a bit urgent too.

He had no idea that he was owner of a palace, or who the Fleamont family was. It was possible that they were his ancestors, but beyond the name of his parents and those of the members of his maternal side of the family, he knew nothing of his father’s family. He knew from his vault that his parents had been wealthy, but he had no idea that they owned an actual palace. Could it be as large as Hogwarts? Well, it would matter little if it remained in its current state until the end of the year, as the Ministry would seize it. And he dreaded if the Dursleys knew of the fact that he owned one. As long as it remained on his power, they would go to the grave without even hearing of it.

He had to write to Dumbledore about this. Since the headmaster was apparently his guardian in the wizarding world, then there was no one better to help him solve this mess.

It was decided. Now all he needed was a piece of parchment and a quill.

* * *

Vlad blinked at the oddity. Owls delivered the post in the wizarding world?

“Hedwig, what a surprise!”

“You know this owl?” asked Vlad.

“It belongs to a student of mine,” said Dumbledore as he approached the bird. “Harry Potter to be precise. Ever heard of him?”

“Should I?”

“The only survivor of a curse that kills its victim as soon as it hits. No spell can protect against it,” explained Dumbledore. “His parents were attacked thirteen years ago by a dangerous and powerful dark wizard who called himself Voldemort. James and Lily Potter were killed by him, but Voldemort failed to kill Harry, and was struck by his own curse.”

“Wait, so this ‘powerful and dangerous’ dark wizard was defeated by a baby?” Vlad thought that was simply ridiculous.

“There is no clear answer of how Harry survived, but what happened that night made him a hero to the wizarding world,” continued the headmaster. “He became hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived. Not quite fond of the title or the fame, I can assure you. Despises them, in fact.”

Vlad supposed he could understand a bit. He was the “Chosen One”, the destined leader of the vampires, supposed to lead them to glory, a role which attracted the attention of both other vampires and slayers.

“Oh dear,” muttered Dumbledore.

“Something wrong?”

“It seems that the new law passed by the Ministry affects Harry. As his guardian, I must assist him on this matter,” he said. Noticing the look on Vlad’s face, he clarified the situation. “A law which requires the preservation of historical buildings. Harry is the owner of one. I have to go with to the Ministry to solve this.”

Dumbledore had completely forgotten about that fact. Well, he and likely most of Wizarding Britain, since the Palace of Hibernicus had not been exactly highlighted since the Grand Gathering nearly a century and a half ago. Sometimes even he was amazed by what the bureaucracy of the Ministry sometimes dug up from the deep grave that was red tape. It was truly amazing what the Ministry could discover when they wanted something, and in this case it was the properties of wizards unfortunate enough to pay for the repairs.

“Care to join me, Vladimir?” suggested Dumbledore. “You may get better acquainted with this world.”

The chance of temporary freedom? He would be an idiot not to take it, considering his home for the next few months would be a castle in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, and he was very experienced with castles and the like.

“Sure. Beats staying in a castle all night.”

* * *

Night had already fallen on Surrey, and the three Dursleys were sitting in front of the television, leaving the work of cleaning the dishes to Harry. Despite not showing it, Harry took some amusement from not only Dudley's mood, but also the reason for it. A forced diet was a living nightmare for his cousin, and being unable to persuade his mother otherwise didn't help things.

Unfortunately, he was also a victim of Dudley's new diet. In fact, the entire family was following the diet, much to Vernon's chagrin. Harry was certain that Vernon reflected what Dudley would eventually become, adding a few years into the mix. In time, Petunia would give in to complaints by both Dudley and Vernon, and this diet would be thrown out of the window. From what those two ate, he was sure they would likely die from heart attacks.

Regardless, what worried him was the whole issue with the ministry. He wondered when Dumbledore would reply to his message, and what his reply would be.

"Boy, go see who it is!" barked Vernon.

He was so focused in his thoughts and washing the dishes that he could not see the context in Vernon’s demand.

“Go see what?”

“The door!”

It seems they had visitors. Harry sighed, wondering who it could be at this time. Putting down the plate, Harry went to the door and opened it, revealing a rather familiar figure.

"Professor Dumbledore! You received my letter?"

"I have indeed," said the headmaster, the stars in his purple robes glinting as if they had been taken from the sky and placed there. "May we come in?"

Harry was confused. "We?"

From behind Dumbledore emerged another figure. Harry could not clearly see their features, but it was certainly a man, shorter than Dumbledore and taller than himself.

"Ah yes, this is Vladimir. I asked him to accompany me this night, for him to get better acquainted with our world."

At Harry's inquisitive look, Dumbledore quickly spoke. "I'll explain inside. May we?"

"Yeah sure, come in," said harry, stepping away from the door, allowing the two to enter. Now that he was seeing Vladimir more closely, he realized that he was likely only a bit older than him. If he had to guess, then Vladimir would either be sixteen or seventeen years old.

"Harry Potter, right? The headmaster told be about you," said Vladimir, shaking Harry's hand.

To Harry's surprise, Vladimir's hand was really cold, almost as if he had dipped it in arctic water.

"Yeah, I'm Harry," he replied. "Sorry, in advance."

It was Vlad's turn to be confused. "About what?"

"The Dursleys, my family. They dislike anything not… well, normal."

"You!"

The shriek from Petunia made it known that Dumbledore had already entered the living room. Harry rolled his eyes, going towards Dumbledore, Vlad following him.

"Good evening Petunia," said Albus pleasantly. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything."

"What are you doing here!" she demanded, outraged at Dumbledore's appearance.

"Harry and I have a few things to discuss. I'm afraid I could only come now."

Petunia and Vernon's fury was almost palpable, and Harry turned towards Vlad.

"As you can see."

With the Dursleys "pacified", the three went upstairs, entering Harry's small room. Vlad looked around, certainly not expecting that the room of the supposed saviour of the wizards was so small and normal-like. Then again, he supposed living with those three would bring little alternative.

"You said you were helping Vladimir get acquainted with our world," said Harry as he closed his bedroom's door. "He's not a wizard?"

"Not quite," said Dumbledore. "Our friend here is a vampire. He and his father are currently residing at Hogwarts."

Harry's head nearly snapped towards Vladimir, the coldness of his hand now making a bit more sense. "So that's why you were cold!"

Vlad was a bit apprehensive at Harry's reaction, the younger teen's expression being more of curiosity than fear or disgust. "You don't mind me being a vampire?"

"Not really," shrugged Harry. "One of my dad's best friends was… well, is a werewolf. And he was my teacher last year. So unless you have another head hiding behind yours, then you're okay to me."

The way Harry spoke so casually about werewolves and the fact that one had been a friend of his father was oddly refreshing to Vlad. "Another head?"

"Long story."

"Indeed. So, it seems that the ministry has taken interest in you again," spoke Dumbledore, interrupting their small talk. "Are you aware of what exactly the Historical Preservation Act is, Harry?"

"The letter from the ministry said it was to preserve buildings important to the history of the wizard world."

Dumbledore nodded. "Correct. However, that is only the public explanation. The bill was created so that the ministry could lawfully acquire important buildings from wizards who don't have the means to pay for their repairs."

That was outrageous. "Can they do that?"

"I'm afraid yes. The Wizengamot passed the act, and it is now law. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about it now," said Dumbledore. "The opportunity may come in the future to repeal the act, but by then, it will be too late to prevent this."

"And what will happen to the buildings taken by your ministry?" asked Vlad.

"As the Ministry of Magic is also bound by the act, they are required to implement the repairs themselves," answered the headmaster. "This of course, was not part of the original draft, but a later addition made to sway some voters to the 'yes'."

"How much will it cost?" asked Harry, worried that the costs of the repairs needed to be made to the castle would be above his budget.

Dumbledore replied with another question.

"You wish to keep the palace?"

"It's one of the few things I have from my family."

Dumbledore nodded, understanding Harry's reasoning, and so did Vlad. "It depends on who you hire. But so, does the quality of the repairs. However, taking into consideration you family's wealth, it won't be a problem to you."

Harry was not too convinced. He remembered quite well the amount of money he had inside his vault, and it seemed that it would not be enough for the repairs.

"I don't think what I have is enough for that."

"I suppose you are thinking about your vault at Gringotts, yes?" At Harry's nod, Dumbledore continued. "As your magical guardian, I took the liberty to transfer a small quantity of money from your family's main vault to one created specifically for your use while a student of Hogwarts, restricting your access to the family vault only for emergencies or until you come of age. I was afraid that being exposed to such a large amount of money would have negative consequences for both you and the money."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the revelation. He had no idea that his vault was merely his, not having all the money of his family. Then again, he supposed that Dumbledore was on the right track when he did that. He remembered quite well his temptations during his first visit to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, and all the amazing things he wanted to buy. In retrospective, most of them would have been useless to him then, and now as well.

"Oh."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry's response.

"Know anything about why the Ministry considers it a historical site?"

Harry shook his head.

"Before the family died out, the Fleamonts were a rather wealthy clan, known to be quite eccentric by most wizard circles. It's from them that most of the Potter fortune comes from. Your grandfather added quite a bit to it with his hair potions."

Harry had no idea that his grandfather was a potioneer. In fact, he could not see any Potter having anything to do with potions, and he had to blame Snape for that.

"How eccentric?" asked Vlad curious.

"I suppose that the Fleamonts could be best described as xenophilic. They were enamoured with everything magical and non-magical. Common animals, muggles, puffskeins, dugbogs, centaurs, werewolves, ghosts, poltergeists, house elves, goblins… anything really. And they were famous for the gardens of the castle, which held a small zoological garden which many wizards liked to visit," said Dumbledore. "They also threw parties whose guests included, wizards, goblins, centaurs, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and even hags. The last and most famous one was called the Grand Gathering, but it was a bit before my time."

"No wonder they were considered eccentric," muttered Harry.

"Wait a minute, I think my father mentioned something about that," said Vlad. "I think he spoke of a going to party organized by a Fleamont once. He said something about a blood fondue."

"It is possible that the Count may have known some of your ancestors Harry. Truly an amazing coincidence," remarked Dumbledore. "And before we lose track of time, we should head to Diagon Alley as soon as possible. They'll close soon."

"Diagon Alley? I thought we were going to the Ministry," said Harry.

"We are. The offices of the Department of Culture are in Diagon Alley. No space left in the ministry's building."

"How will we get there?" asked Harry.

He could be wrong, but the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes told him that he would not like it.

* * *

He wasn't wrong.

He didn't like it at all. And neither did Vlad, apparently.

"What was that?" near-hissed the vampire, not caring about his new surroundings. "I feel like I was squeezed through a tube!"

"Apparition," explained Dumbledore. "A useful, although uncommon method of transportation. When you are seventeen, you'll be able to receive your licence to apparate."

"You need a licence for that?"

Harry was surprised by this. So apparition was essentially the wizard equivalent of driving a car.

"It is dangerous and sometimes unpredictable. It is not unheard of a wizard splinching himself when apparating."

"Splinching?"

"Separation of body parts."

If Harry was not sick already, then would have been. Instead, he decided to look at the alley, and so did Vlad, the vampire having recovered from the unpleasant aftereffects of apparition. There were very few people there, especially now that night had fallen. Most of the stores were closed, some closing, and a minority still open. He supposed that wizard nightlife was not exciting. Then again, this provided him a new insight in the society of wizards. As far as he knew, vampires had nothing like this. Sure, they had a newspaper and some furniture stores, but nothing beyond that. Perhaps when he became the Grand High Vampire next year, he could try to create something like Diagon Alley for vampires.

“Albus!”

Whoever said the headmaster’s name did not do so happily. The three turned to see a man approaching them.

“Anacletus Corvinus?” Dumbledore seemed surprised at the man’s presence. “Why aren’t you in the Netherlands?”

The man certainly seemed to be tired. “I had to take two international portkeys and a short range one, followed by apparition to reach this place before you did.”

“May I ask why?” said Dumbledore.

“To stop you from doing something incredibly stupid!” growled the man, before turning to Harry. “Harry Potter, I presume.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anacletus Corvinus, President of the International Caligonese Forum,” said Corvinus, giving what seemed to Harry as the most faint of bows, before looking at Vlad. “And you are?”

“Oh, er… Vladimir Dracula.”

That brought a surprised smile to Anacletus’s face.

“Dracula? A bit away from Romania, aren’t you?”

Vlad blinked in surprise and confusion. This wizard knew of his family?

“Excuse me,” spoke Harry. “Why did you say you needed to stop us from doing ‘something stupid’?”

“Simple. The Palace of Hibernicus, which your Ministry claims to be ‘relevant to the history of the British Wizarding World’, is not under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of magic. In fact, it isn’t even located in Britain, and has nothing to do with its history.”

“How exactly do you know all this?” asked Dumbledore. “The act was passed just yesterday.”

That made Anacletus smile. “Because the idiots attempted to pull the same trick on me.”

“So… why do I have a palace?”

This was the question Harry truly wanted answered, and since this man apparently knew something about the Ministry’s demand, then perhaps he could also tell him about the palace. Suddenly discovering he was the owner of such a building was not exactly in his plans for the summer. Not that he had any actual plans for the summer, but still… it wasn’t normal.

“You are Harry Potter, are you not? The son of James and Lily Potter?”

Harry simply nodded.

“And you don’t know who you descend from?”

Harry had the decency to look sheepish. “Should I?”

That answer made Anacletus close his eyes and take a deep breath.

“The Palace of Hibernicus served as the residence for the royal family of Caligon, its last proper reigning monarch having been Livia Actoria Flamena, your father’s great-grandmother,” explained Corvinus. “By the laws of inheritance, and as the last of the Actorii, that makes you the rightful and sovereign King of Caligon.”

To say Harry was bewildered would be a grand understatement. But what exactly had the man just called him?

“Actorii?”

Anacletus motioned towards the end of the alley, where the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron was. Even Harry had realized by now that whatever Dumbledore had brought him there to do would not happen.

Vlad simply tagged along, curious about what exactly was going on with these wizards. For first impressions, he was… well, impressed. For non-normal people, they were rather normal, without a specific trait that generally defined them, such as the near universal lack of morality that vampires possessed. Were he given the choice to be reborn as either a vampire or a wizard, he would have certainly picked the latter.

“Do you know anything about the society of ancient Romans?” asked Corvinus.

“Not really.”

“So, to put it simply, the Actorii are a family with two major branches. The Pictor and the Flamen, who together form what people call the Pictor-Flamenian dynasty,” explained Corvinus. “

“And Livia was part of this dynasty.”

Anacletus nodded. “Correct.”

“So, am I part of it too?”

“Not exactly. You descend from it, but you are not a… legal member of the Actorii. You have simply inherited what was theirs because of Queen Livia’s marriage. In essence, the Potter family is the second dynasty to hold the throne of Caligon.”

Funny. So much for being “just Harry”. Being the Boy-Who-Lived was already a burden on its own, but now he was the king of some land he had never heard about. Fate really seemed to enjoy throwing unexpected stuff at him. At least this one wasn’t bad by itself, it was just… weird.

"So the Ministry made up this just to get the islands?” he asked, receiving a nod from Anacletus. “Then why haven't they just… you know, invaded them?”

"There's a reason it's called Caligon. A protective mist encircles the isles, hiding them from non-magicals, and preventing any sort of hostile action against them by others. The British Ministry may have thought that by 'legally' – and I use this word loosely – usurping the islands from you, that they would be recognized as their rightful owners."

"How- how does that even work?"

"Magic is a wonderous and strange thing, Mister Potter," said Dumbledore. "However, it does not understand politics. Perhaps whoever was behind this plot believed that certain actions could have lead to the subversion of the protective enchantments of the isles.”

“Is there a way for me to visit the isles?” Harry suddenly asked, surprising Dumbledore.

Anacletus on the other hand, was expecting nothing less. “Indeed there is. I can take you there, if you so wish.”

Harry nodded, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “When?”

“Tomorrow, if you are available.”

“Really? Alright.”

Anacletus turned to Dumbledore.

"I’m reporting this travesty to both the Insular League and the International Confederation,” declared Corvinus coldly. “I would advise you to deal with this attempt at a pseudo-invasion, before things get heated up.”

"You know as well as I do that I cannot control the Ministry," said Dumbledore.

"You are the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamont, and one of Fudge's prized advisors. That alone gives you more power there than most of those fools combined! Keep in mind, that when I bring this before the Confederation, they will fall on your Ministry like vultures," said the man. "Remember what happened when they claimed Avalon was part of Britain. Thomas Uriens would have flayed alive your delegates had he not been restrained by his own."

Dumbledore mentally cringed at the memory. Truly, the British Ministry sometimes lacked tact when it was most required and possessed an unrivalled arrogance when it was not needed.

"I will see what I can do," said the headmaster.

"Good. Make sure you do," said Anacletus, before looking at Harry. “I’ll shall be at your aunt and uncle’s house tomorrow morning.”

“How do you know where I live?”

He simply smiled. “I have my sources.”

With a crack, Corvinus disappeared, startling both Harry and Vladimir.

This brief meeting had left Harry with a few ideas. He was sure the palace would need quite a few repairs, having been abandoned for more than a century, and when it was done, it could become his home. That is, after he no longer needed to live with the Dursleys.

"So, Vladimir, what are your thoughts on the wizarding world, from what you saw?" asked Dumbledore. “I just hope this terrible affair hasn’t placed us in a bad light.”

"Not really! It was interesting, in its own way. You're very organized. More than we are, to be honest. I wasn't expecting any of this."

"Wait until you see Quidditch," said Harry.

And that was another word to add to the list of "strange wizard words" he had heard today. “What’s that?”

"It's a sport we play on brooms."

"I'm afraid that unless young Vladimir goes to the world cup, he will have little opportunity to see Quidditch this year."

"Oh, why? Do you burn in sunlight?"

"Vampires do burn in sunlight Harry, but that's not the reason. I can only say that this year there will be no Quidditch at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore

The near-heartbroken look on Harry's face almost made Vlad laugh.

"Why?"

"It's a secret I'm afraid. You'll have to wait until the school year starts."

There was something in Dumbledore's tone that made it sound as if something better than Quidditch would be happening, and despite the sudden revelation of a year without playing Quidditch, Harry felt like a small kid who was eagerly waiting to open a present, only to be constantly reminded that the time hadn't come yet.

Suspense was something good in fiction. Not so much in real-life.


	2. The Land of Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accompanied by Anacletus, Harry travels for the first time to the near-mystical archipelago of Caligon.

**_ Chapter 2 – The Land of Mist _ **

As much as Harry found apparition unpleasant, travelling by portkey wasn’t much better. It was early in the morning, and true to his word, Anacletus had arrived at Privet Drive, much to the displeasure of the Dursleys. The prospective absence of Harry, however, had been a rather good enough incentive for Petunia and Vernon to “calm down”.

When Harry rose from the ground and regained his composure, he saw that the two wizards had arrived at a deserted beach, with only a rather simple and small wooden pier in sight.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Mull, I believe it is called,” answered Anacletus. “Western coast of the isle.”

Harry was mildly surprised. “Mull? Why are we in Scotland?”

“It’s a rather close spot to where we need to go. And it makes the voyage shorter, compared to if we had gone somewhere between England and Ireland. Come along now.”

The teen followed Anacletus as the older wizard walked towards the pier, the old wood creaking with each footstep they took. As they reached the end, Anacletus drew his wand and moved it in an arc, silently casting a white bolt of magic towards the ocean. The spell had no visible or instant effect, and Harry quickly began to wonder what exactly had Corvinus done.

He saw that Anacletus was staring at the ocean calmly, as if waiting for something happen, and Harry too began to look at the waters, hoping to see what exactly Anacletus had done. It took Harry a few moments to realize that something white had begun to appear far away in the horizon.

“What’s that?”

“Wait.”

Harry briefly looked at Anacletus before turning back to look at the water. After a brief moment, Harry soon realized what he was seeing was fog, which was quickly approaching the beach. It didn’t take long, but a few moments were all it took so that Harry could hardly see the ocean, most of it covered in this strange mist. Even the beach behind them was now being covered by the fog.

And from from the fog emerged a dark shape, steadily approaching the pier. Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to see if he could perceive what exactly was coming, but to no avail. Only when the shape was a few meters closer, was he able to see what it was – a canoe.

A man with his body completely covered in ragged black robes and hood stood inside the canoe, his two hands holding a paddle. The boat finally reached the pier, and then it stopped.

Anacletus stepped forward and addressed the figure.

“We request passage to the isle.”

But he had not spoken in English. Harry knew not the name of the language, but to his wonder, he understood every work perfectly.

One of the ferryman’s hands released the paddle, and the man extended it, his palm open as if expecting something.

“The toll?”

From his robes, Anacletus produced two golden coins which he handed to the cloaked man, who grasped them before his hand returned to the paddle. Harry blinked and silently mouthed a “what”, wondering where the coins went to.

“You may enter.”

Anacletus nodded and turned to Harry. “Come along now.”

Harry followed Anacletus as the man entered the canoe and sat down, the young wizard doing the same. The ferryman began to row the boat away from the pier, the vessel departing from the beach and into the depths of the mysterious fog. Harry remained silent, looking at his surroundings, or at least what he could see inside the fog. He could hardly see the sun above him, only a faint shape beyond the mist clouds. And of the ocean, he could only see whatever of it was close to the boat.

“It has been many years since I was summoned,” spoke the ferryman, breaking the silence. “For what reason do you cross the Antumbra?”

“A visit,” answered Anacletus.

“You visit a graveyard then,” stated the ferryman, his gravelly voice unnerving Harry.  “No living soul has set foot on the isles for over a century.”

As those words were spoken, Harry noticed that most of the fog had begun to dissipate, and the horizon was now clearly visible. Despite this, a somewhat dense layer of fog could still be seen above the water, and each time the ferryman’s paddle moved through it, the little section of fog was stirred away, only to return back to its original location instants later.

Yet there was something bothering Harry. There was something wrong about this ferryman. There was something in the back of Harry’s mind that told him this man was not human. At all.

“It is rude to stare.”

Harry was startled by the ferryman’s words, and he himself had not noticed he had been intensely staring at the cloaked man.

“Your mind is addled with questions. Speak your mind.”

And Harry did speak, yet the words felt strange in his mouth, although oddly familiar. Speaking in this strange language came naturally to him, but how he could do so was a mystery to Harry. As far as he knew, the only language he could speak was English.

“What are you?”

The faint laugh of the ferryman sounded almost… hollow.

“You have entered the Antumbra. Other than common magical means, the only gateway into Caligon,” spoke the man. “I am the genius which protects this river. From it I was born and protect it I shall until the end of time.”

A black mass began to appear in the distance, and the more they got closer to it, the more Harry began to realize he was seeing land. As the canoe got closer, the more Harry could see of the isle, his eyes looking at what he believed to be some sort of harbour. Harry began to see other buildings, with a great one atop a hill being the one that stood out the most. Closer and closer they got, and the ruinous state of the structures quickly became apparent. The abandonment of the isles had not been kind to the buildings.

The boat finally stopped in a lower section of the harbour, allowing Harry and Anacletus to disembark. As soon as they did so, the ferryman turned around and began to row the boat away from the island. Harry starred at the ocean before them. Right above the waters were many clouds of vapour that became denser the more distant they were from the island, and he could hardly see the ocean in the horizon, hidden away by the mystical fog.

“And here we are,” spoke Anacletus. “Actoria Augusta, the capital of Caligon.”

Harry turned to look at his surroundings, even looking back at the ocean, and noticed that the ferryman and his boat were nowhere to be seen.

“How big is the island?”

“Big enough, I suppose. Census records from the 15th century indicate a population of around two hundred thousand here in the capital alone.”

Harry gaped with his mouth slightly opened. Sure, he could see that the ruined city was large, but never in his mind had he imagined so many wizards could exist in a single place.

They walked through the streets of the city, the silence of the ghost town being rather eerie, accompanied only by the gentle ocean breeze. In its prime, perhaps the city would have been a pleasant place to both life and visit, but now it just looked like a botched up archaeological dig. The ferryman was right, this was a graveyard.

“Why did everyone leave?”

“No one really knows. Memoirs from back then only say that people began to have this… constant feeling that something would go wrong if they remained on the island. In time, all who lived here began to experience this dread, and eventually left. Queen Livia was likely the last true inhabitant of the isles,” said Corvinus. “But whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

The main road led them up the hill, passing by another gatehouse into what seemed to be the main area of the city. To their right was the temple which they had seen when at the harbour, and in front of them was the ruins of the old forum. Many other buildings littered this area, some in better state than others, but all decayed by time. In time, they arrived at another wall, this one with another golden gate. Having crossed the gateway, Harry saw what exactly had been expecting him. From a distance, he had no clear view of what the palace complex was, and thus had no clear idea of what it looked like. But now… now he could see everything.

Beyond the golden gate was a paved road, its stones so small that they looked like mosaics. Like the roads of the other districts, this one was too in great disrepair, grass and flowers growing in the spaces between the stones. In each side of the road were what were likely once ornate promenades, beyond them buildings whose purpose was beyond Harry's understanding. There were statues as well - some broken while others were relatively intact – alongside columns which decorated the street, together with empty fountains, some with a little water, possibly from the rain. If this area was the palace district, then the building at the end was the palace itself.

Harry continued his walk towards the palace, but felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Corvinus stopping him from advancing.

“Best that we don’t approach it,” explained Anacletus. “The building may be too unstable.”

Although disappointed, the young wizard nodded. “Yeah.”

* * *

Beyond meeting a vampire, travelling through a hidden river that did not exist in normal space to reach a set of equally hidden islands, and meeting a protector deity, the only "exciting" thing that had happened to Harry since then was the dream he had about Voldemort and Wormtail. Quite a few weeks had passed since Harry’s visit to Caligon, and in time came the invitation from the Weasleys to spend the rest of the summer with them, and to go to the Quidditch World Cup with them as well. Their method of arrival at Privet Drive however, was not exactly practical in hindsight. On the other hand, their arrival at the Quidditch camp was practical but unpleasant.

Portkeys and apparition were two things Harry could go without if he had the choice.

"Harry, could you pass me that pan?"

The voice of Mr. Weasley brought him back from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. What did you say?"

Artur pointed at the pan. "The pan, Harry."

Harry looked at it, and his eyebrows went up in understanding.

"Oh, right…"

He grabbed the pan, handing it to Mr. Weasley, who then thanked him, before staring into the distance once more, not focusing on any specific thing. Night had fallen on the camp, and it would be only one hour and half before the game began. Harry could already imagine this as his only experience with Quidditch for the next months, considering that Dumbledore himself had told him that there would be no Quidditch at Hogwarts. He let himself relax, staring into the growing flames of the small campfire that, through what had likely been dumb luck, Mr. Weasley had managed to create. A lifetime using magic culminated in very low survival chances if a wizard was deprived of it and put in a risky situation.

There were shouts and singing coming from every location, the excitement for the confrontation between Bulgaria and Ireland's teams building up like a balloon nearly ready to be popped, unleashing the chaos that was to be expected at an international event such as the Quidditch World Cup. However, from the loud noise and shouts that he heard coming from inside the tent, its seemed that the excitement was not only outside.

"Merlin's beard, what are they up to?" groaned Mr. Weasley as he rushed into the tent.

"Must be the twins," muttered Harry

He could already hear arguing inside the tent, but he made no move to go and check what it was. It was best he didn't get involved at all. If he was lucky, then this day would end without either drama or violence. Considering he was in the middle of thousands of Quidditch fans, each supporting their own teams and with diverging tempers, then he could simply dream on.

"Hello Harry."

And of course, had he no control over his bowels, then he would have likely shat himself right there. Instead, a jolt of surprise sufficed as he turned around to see who had scared him out of his wits.

"Vladimir! What are you doing here?"

The vampire was crouching, his position behind the rock in which Harry sat indicating the scare had been deliberate. The paleness of his face was further shown by the burning fire near them, and the impish smile on Vladimir's face made it clear that the older teen had enjoyed himself.

"Call me Vlad. Vladimir's a mouthful," said the vampire. "I'm here to see what that Quidditch thing is all about."

"You are?"

A bit of a stupid question, Harry though. Why else would Vladimir be here? Sightseeing?

"Your headmaster gave me his ticket. Said that I would make better use of it than he would. Father wasn't particularly excited about me going here, but he changed his mind when he got the idea that I would bite someone in here."

"Dumbledore mentioned your father before. So he's a vampire too?"

"Yep," said Vlad, his tone now irredeemably sardonic. "The famous and mighty Count-"

Whatever Vlad was about to say was interrupted by Mr. Weasley's sudden arrival from within the tent. "Well, that's sorted," he said, before noticing Vlad. "Harry, who's…?"

"Vlad Count," said Vlad, not wanting to attract unwanted attention by using his real name.

"He's a friend of mine," said Harry.

Mr. Weasley's expression relaxed immediately, and immediately went to give Vlad his hand to shake. "Arthur Weasley," he introduced himself, not noticing how cold Vlad's hand was. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," replied Vlad.

The Weasley patriarch had gone back to being entertained by the campfire, allowing Harry and Vlad to resume their conversation.

"You were saying?"

Vlad cleared his throat, returning to his previous expression and tone, although his voice was a bit lower, which Harry suspected to be because of Mr. Weasley.

"The famous and mighty Count Dracula."

Vlad was almost expecting thunder and lightning to accompany that phrase, but alas, none came. Harry however seemed to have been hit by something in the face, although that quickly shifted to a thoughtful and awed expression.

"You mean… _the_ Count Dracula?" he asked in a near whisper.

"The one and only."

Vlad was a bit stunned when Harry stood up and turned to him. "I'll be right back," he said, quickly entering the tent, and leaving the vampire wondering what exactly he was going to do. His answer quickly came when Harry returned with a book in his hand.

"What's that?" Vlad asked.

"My Folio Universitas," answered Harry, already searching for something in the book. "It's where I put my Chocolate Frog Cards… Where was it?... Ah, here it is!"

Vlad watched as Harry took one of the odd shaped card and handed it to him. He took it and looked at the card, nearly chocking on his own saliva when he saw the image. There it was, the image of his father, sporting both a goatee and moustache, wearing clothes he had only seen once in a breather portrait. He supposed that he should not be surprised that these images could move, but what made him laugh was the pose of his father on the card.

"Yeah… that's dad," he said with amusement in his voice, turning around the card to see what was on the back. "That, however, is wrong."

"Huh? What is?" asked Harry, leaning over to see.

"Dad's not the father of Vlad the Impaler," said the vampire. "He _is_ Vlad the Impaler. Pretended to be his own son so that he could continue to rule over the breathers back in Romania."

"Breathers?"

Vlad handed the card back to Harry. "Non-vampires, humans, mortals."

"So, it's the vampire version of 'muggle', I suppose."

"Muggle?"

"Non-magical folk."

Vlad made a noise that indicated understanding, and the attention of the two was shifted from the Chocolate Cards to the newcomers from within the tent. The figures of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were immediately recognized by Harry, and it seemed that they had been looking for him.

"Harry there you- who's that?"

Hermione's sentence quickly shifted in less than a second, both Ron and her seeing Harry siting down next to a stranger with what they recognized as Harry's Folio Universitas.

"This is Vlad," Harry said, hoping that Hermione or Ron would have the same passiveness as Mr. Weasley. "He's a friend."

Neither Ron nor Hermione missed the fact that Harry had a previously unknown friend, and it became evident that the tension was becoming palpable. To Ron and Hermione, the strangest part was not that Harry apparently had a friend older than the three, but that he had shown his Folio Universitas to him. That book was perhaps one of the most prized possessions of Harry, who never allowed anyone to either see it or touch it. It had gone to the point where Harry hid it by covering the book with the Invisibility Cloak, which proved to be rather effective, as eventually not only Ron, but also Seamus and Dean stopped trying to peek into its pages. To Harry however, it had been a necessary measure when several of his housemates began to lose their cards last year. He had no intention of letting his collection be stolen.

On Harry's side however, he did his best to keep things calm between the three and began to ask what Ron and Hermione wanted. The answer was trivial, the two having been wondering why Harry wasn't inside, to which Harry answered that he had been waiting for Vlad. Of course, both he and Vlad knew that this was a lie, but he had to manipulate the situation as best as he could – to keep things simple and ordinary. Breaking the ice between Vlad and the other two would be a great step.

"So, when did you two meet?" asked Ron, suspicious at never having heard of Vlad before, a sentiment shared by Hermione.

"A while ago. Dumbledore introduced Vlad to me," said Harry, telling them what they needed to know. "His father is Dumbledore's research partner."

The mention of Vlad's father as Dumbledore's research partner seemed to make the two relax, making Harry mentally sigh with relief. It seemed that the mere association of Dumbledore with something or someone was good enough for his friends to accept it.

However, the mention of research had Hermione immediately interested.

"Really? What do they search then?"

And bam – the ice was broken.

"The undead," lied Harry. "At least that's what I got from Dumbledore."

Ron and Hermione grimaced at the thought of the living dead, their thoughts drifting to images of rotting corpses and revenants controlled by voodoo witches. Yet this was not known to Harry and Vlad, who saw the grimace as yet another reason to keep Vlad's vampiric nature in secret. Despite this, the tension seemed to have been broken, and not soon enough came the time for all to head to the stadium.

As they all walked, Vlad took in the "wizardness" that surrounded him. Vampires spent essentially all their lives hidden except when they would go out to hunt, and that had been his only experience of the supernatural. But here he was now, surrounded by thousands of human wizards, all excited to see two national teams dispute a world cup. It was undoubtably strange, yes. Yet it was also so… normal. Unless it involved a "see who gets to bite more breathers in a single night" competition, vampires would do nothing of this sort. The cheering, chanting, laughter, and Harry grinning like he was some sort of maniac also helped Vlad to relax into the atmosphere.

And a shadow was cast upon them – they had reached the stadium, and Vlad could not help but gape at it, and so did Harry. Mr. Weasley had taken the time to tell them that the stadium supported a hundred thousand people, and how five hundred ministry wizards had been working on it all year. Having a prime ticket meant that they would not be separated during the game, and the now larger group made its way to the top box. Now inside of the stadium, they could clearly see how large it was, and how many people were inside.

As they reached the seats, the group made sure to sit on the front row, Vlad taking a seat to the left of Harry. Yet before they sat down, he noticed that Harry, whose wand was on the back pockets of his pants, was about to sit on it.

"Harry, your wand!" warned the vampire.

As if sensation had returned to his lower parts, Harry jolted away from the chair as he was about to sit on it. Taking the wand from his back pocket, he sat down, deciding that it would be best to keep it in his hands for now.

"Thanks!" he whispered to Vlad.

"No problem," said Vlad, who then had a thoughtful look on his face. "Say Harry, care to explain to be how exactly this Quidditch thing works?"

Harry eagerly began to explain to Vlad the basics of Quidditch, and quite a little more. The fact that it was played on brooms amused the vampire a lot, as it basically intensified the old stereotype of flying witches. On the other hand, vampires also fitted many of the stereotypes associated with them.

Eventually came the other guests of the Top Box, amongst these Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister for Magic, who wasted no time in trying to introduce Harry to the foreign ministers. And while the pleasantries were exchanged, anything that came after the arrival of the Malfoys was artificial. From the way the Malfoys and the Weasley group interacted, the vampire could see that there was bad blood between them.

"Who are they?"

"The Malfoys," answered Harry in a whisper and clear bitterness in his voice. "They boast to have pure-blood and consider all wizards with muggle relations to be inferior."

Vlad knew some people who would love to see if the blood of the Malfoys was indeed as pure as they claimed.

* * *

In theory, Quidditch seemed to be boring, but in practice it was different, Vlad had learned. He could see why Harry loved the sport, and had he grown amongst wizards, he would likely have the same excitement for it as Harry did. He wasn't supporting any team in particular and was just enjoying the thrill of the battle for the Quaffle and the seekers trying to find the Snitch. It did not take long for the game to devolve into violence, or at least part of it, as while the players continued the game high in the air, their mascots and wizards from the British ministry were involved in some sort of pseudo-skirmish. There were now two grand events happening – the Quidditch match, and the "Mascot War" below it. In time the two came to an end, as the seeker of the Bulgarian team caught the Snitch yet lost by ten points.

And despite not being a supporter of either team, Vlad still joined the wizards in their cheers and applauses, especially as it all ended. At this, the stadium was systematically emptied, the wizards either returning home or to the campsite. Having quite a few hours until dawn, Vlad accompanied Harry and his group to their camp.

"You were right Harry," declared the vampire.

Harry glanced at him, confused. "About what?"

"Quidditch."

Harry simply grinned as they continued to walk towards the tent. When they finally arrived, Vlad was led into the tent by Harry, yet told him to wait until had the others had entered, telling him that he needed to be invited in, otherwise he would be unable to enter the tent. Understanding the situation, Harry did invite Vlad in, and the vampire was aghast by what he saw.

For some unexplainable reason since his arrival, his mind had not processed the fact that Harry’s group had been entering and leaving the tent – a tent which was only large enough to house at least two individuals. But now he understood exactly how they were doing that, for the tent was bigger on the inside. It was undoubtedly the work of their magic, and Vlad could not help but find it amazing. What followed gave Vlad a closer understanding of how wizard society worked. The bantering, the arguments about the match, and even Ginny Weasley falling asleep and dropping her mug of hot chocolate on the floor made him conclude that wizards were very unlike vampires, in that they at least could function in a normal society, despite the occasional oddities. He remembered quite well the man in a woman's sleeping gown when he had arrived at the campsite. Amusing, but disturbing. His exposure to the wizarding world had been so small, and right now (if he had the chance), he would gladly trade his life as a vampire for a life as a wizard.

It was basically a breather’s life, with a few perks attached to it – as opposed to the nocturnal and hematophagic society of vampires.

Eventually, the younger ones had been told to go to bed, Harry amongst them, leaving Mr. Weasley and his older sons there awake. Yet before they could engage in any conversation, Vlad's heightened senses began to pick something up.

"Can you hear that?" he asked.

Arthur looked at him. "Hear what?"

"Screaming, outside. Sounds like panicking."

Arthur was doubtful, yet he still went outside to check Vlad's claims. Moments later, he had returned, a panicked look on his face.

"Get up!" Vlad could hear the Weasley patriarch say as he went into the tent’s bedrooms. “Quickly!”

He realized that the screams had now become louder, which meant they were approaching their area. Arthur had already gone and collected all the teenagers, hurrying them out of the tent. Vlad could see the source of these screams, as drunken laughter and yells revealed their position. Yet he could not see them, as they were robed and masked. In the confusion, they had been sent into the woods, Vlad going with Harry.

Through the woods, and past a few unwanted encounters, they came upon an empty clearing, deciding to rest there. Alas, this rest was short.

" _MORSMORDRE_!"

It was as if a green sun had begun to illuminate the woods, yet instead of a big ball of gas, it was a gigantic and spectral skull, with a snake emerging from its mouth. When Hermione said that it was called the Dark Mark, and how it was the sign of someone she called You-Know-Who, he began to have suspicions that something was terribly wrong. Of course, in turn the giant skull "summoned" a group of wizards to their location, all eager to know if they had been the one to summon the mark. It all culminated in the discovery of a house-elf with the wand of a wizard which had been used to summon the mark, followed by what Vlad could describe as the elf being fired. It seemed that the mark had scared away the rioters, allowing them to return to the tent, followed by a rather enlightening conversation, not just for Vlad, but also for Harry as well.

"The terror it inspired… you have no idea, you're too young," said Mr. Weasley, explaining why people had been terrified of the Dark Mark and its association with Voldemort. "Just picture coming home, finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house and knowing what you're about to find inside. It was everyone's worst fear… the very worst…"

And then he learned the name of the rioters – the Death Eaters. The followers of Voldemort, or as the Weasleys referred to him, You-Know-Who. Followers of a man who had been apparently defeated by Harry when he was a baby and were essentially a wizard terrorist group. But the conversation soon ended, the wizards being exhausted. As they prepared for bed, Harry accompanied Vlad outside, the vampire leaving for Hogwarts.

"Well… that was exciting," said Harry.

"Exciting isn't the word I would choose," replied Vlad. "Thanks by the way. Although I'm not sure lying to your friends was a good idea."

"What they don't know won't hurt them," declared Harry, keeping his voice low to avoid unwanted eavesdroppers. "Besides, you saw their reaction to the word 'undead'. I'm not sure they would react well to you being a vampire."

Vlad frowned, but smiled nearly immediately. It was an odd and strangely refreshing sensation to have his true nature known and kept secret by a non-vampire again. He was quickly reminded of Robin, and his smile quickly fell as he felt a pang of guilt at having mindwiped his old and first friend. This change of mood was noticed by Harry, who looked at the older teen with worry.

"You're okay Vlad?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just… remembered something. Nothing important."

A lie if he ever heard one.

Harry wasn't sure if he should believe the vampire but decided to not press Vlad. If the other wanted to tell him, then he would do it on his own. The two said their goodbyes, and Harry watched as Vlad activated a portkey given to him by Dumbledore, the vampire disappearing like a visible gust of wind collapsing on itself.

* * *

The privileges of Dumbledore's status as headmaster seemed to carry on to objects enchanted by him, as the portkey dropped him right on the entrance courtyard of the castle. He hadn't to walk much inside the castle before reaching the entrance to the formerly unused tower that Dumbledore had placed at their disposal, a portrait in a corridor filled with many protecting and hiding the entrance.

"Vovoide."

The password spoken, the portrait moved aside, revealing the wide hole, allowing Vlad passage into the tower, the portrait closing behind him. A snap of fingers lit up the torches, allowing him to go up the stairs. At this time his father must be out hunting, and Renfield was likely asleep so he didn't want to make too much noise.

As he climbed the spiral staircase towards the section which had been converted into his bedroom, Vlad felt a gust of wind coming from the storage room. Someone, either his father or Renfield, had left the window opened. Sighing, he went to the small window, closing it shut and stopping the slight breeze. Yet as he walked towards the staircase, Vlad noticed something on the corner of his eye.

In the other side of the circular room and against the wall was the Blood Mirror, partially covered by a large red sheet, likely caused by the opened window. Shaking his head, Vlad went towards it, grabbing the fallen part of the sheet before covering the rest of the mirror with it. His work done, Vlad went to his bedroom, passing by the living room to see if the window was open there, as his father needed a way to enter, the light of the torches extinguished by another snap of fingers.

Yet in the darkness of the night and only illuminated by the pale moonlight, the red sheet of the Blood Mirror fell down, revealing the glinting surface of the mirror, and a pair of equally glinting eyes beyond it. There was a sound of echoing footsteps, which could have been mistaken for a broken grandfather clock, before they settled, the wood floor creaking as the intruding feet of a figure whose body the mirror refused to reflect.

Pale skin and blue eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight, and the slightly open mouth revealed the teeth – white as bones – with a double set of sharp fangs. Glancing at the storage's entrance, the figure walked slowly towards it, looking up at the faint light coming from Vlad's room. He then smirked, chuckling to himself while feeling the pulsing background magic of the castle flowing through him like blood.

"Game on, Vlad."

* * *

The aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup had not been pleasant for the Ministry, Harry could tell. The damages caused by the rioting Death Eaters and the articles published by Rita Skeeter had caused a nightmare for the Ministry of Magic, one which Mr. Weasley had experienced personally.

But Harry was not involved with any of that, and at Hogwarts, those events were mere fuel for talk and rumours. Now, the first years had been sorted, the feast had ended, and Dumbledore was at the podium, ready to give his speech.

“Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts!” said Dumbledore. “Now that we’re all fed and watered, I must ask once more for your attention, while I give out a few notices.”

What followed was the usual warnings about Filch’s list of forbidden objects and how the Forbidden Forest was out of bounds for all students. Not that it stopped some from going there, thought Harry.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

And there it was. The announcement that Harry knew would come. Now if Dumbledore could only reveal why it there would be no Quidditch this year…

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and will continue throughout the school year, taking much of the teachers’ time and energy,” continued Dumbledore. “But I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts – “

Whatever Dumbledore would say was halted by an unexpected arrival at the Great Hall, a man in a black cloak, with a long and grizzled dark grey hair, and far more scars than someone should have on their face. And there was also the eyes, or at least one of them – large as a coin and of a vivid blue, moving around independently from the other eye in ways that a normal eye could not.

The man approached Dumbledore, and after a brief and quite conversation, the headmaster finally spoke.

“May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher – Professor Moody.”

After a few moments, as Moody joined the other teachers at the staff table, Dumbledore resumed his pervious speech.

“As I was saying, this year Hogwarts shall be host to the Triwizard Tournament.”

That had gotten many students excited, especially Fred and George. On the other hand, Harry had no idea what the Triwizard Tournament was. Dumbledore was kind enough to rectify that, as he began to explain what exactly the tournament was, and exactly why it had been discontinued. Two other schools would be participating – Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and Harry wondered what their students would look like.

Soon enough, the speech about the tournament ended, but Dumbledore was not over yet.

“And before I forget, I would like to introduce you to a guest we shall have at Hogwarts this year,” said Dumbledore, and Harry could already tell who it was supposed to be. In the corner of the staff table, oddly shrouded by shadows, was a figure which Harry could almost bet was Count Dracula. He had to bet Dumbledore would not present him at that, to prevent panic from the younger and more prejudiced students – the mess with Lupin last year told him that wizards were a nasty bunch in that regard. “May I introduce you to my research colleague, Professor Count.”

The vampire rose briefly, allowing the students to observe him, before sitting down again. From such a distance, Harry couldn’t see the man very well, but he wasn’t bothered about it. However, only the Count was there.

Where exactly was Vlad?

* * *

Vlad looked out of one of the tiny windows of his room, the sound of rain, wind, and thunder a good reason to not get out of the castle this night. Even his father had made a sensible choice this day and would remain in the castle. Not to mention that there would be no breathers outside with this weather – all would likely be inside their homes, and since a vampire could not enter a home uninvited… then the Count was out of luck.

Oddly enough, he also felt rather strange. He couldn’t put his finger on the why of it, but he felt a bit exhausted, weak even. Vlad was sure his father would claim it was due to not drinking actual blood, but he would have none of it. He had to find the reason for this sudden tiredness. But for now, he would rest a bit.

Yes… resting was a good idea.


End file.
